Tear You Apart
by elle.writes
Summary: "Just go," Heero said, offering him the out Duo clearly needed. "Just go. Just go and don't come back." Duo's weight sagged dramatically against him as he fell fully into his frame, all of the fight leaving him at once, but he managed out a single word – "Where?"


Title: Tear You Apart

Author: ELLE

Pairings/Warnings: Heero/Duo, physical and minor sexual violence, sexually explicit content, explicit language, angst, minor character death, mentioned alcohol abuse

Notes: I've been going back through some one shots I've started in the GW fandom and trying to finish them up. Thanks to the help of Miss Murdered, who kindly beta'd this for me, I'm actually feeling a glimmer of inspiration where that's concerned so I'll try to follow where that leads. Surprisingly still finding things to say about these characters, even after so long.

* * *

It had been three weeks but still all the syndicated news networks were showing clips of the building collapsing, and the following funeral – closed casket – though Heero had seen her body, crumpled, crushed. Lifeless. Yet the newscasters rambled on, speculation on where Relena's policies were headed now, who would be next to take over her position in the impending special election next week. Heero's eyes were glued to the screen as they had been every moment of his forced leave of absence – except for when he was out of the apartment undergoing the mandatory therapy sessions.

He hadn't eaten for weeks. Even the bottles of alcohol he'd consumed in desperation to numb the gaping feeling in his chest had long been emptied and abandoned. They littered the coffee table like gravestones, each one a testament to a particular hour of desperation. Fifth of jack, consumed in one hour, induced sleep for four – woke up too sober and took the tequila.

Still he could hear Wufei on the comm channel as the collective moment of realization hit them.

"Heero – !"

He'd called him by his first name in that moment of panic right before the building exploded.

Another funeral, one that didn't get aired on television despite a legacy of service. Just a simple ceremony with some of the other agents before his cremated remains were sent back to L5 to be dumped among the rubble of his home. Reunited with his people. It was fitting, but Heero found no comfort in that.

It was his fault – all his fault. If only he'd –

"Now you can't blame yourself," the therapist would say, red lipstick running into the lines of her mouth.

She was sick of him already – but he was sick of her, too. Therapists never much liked him – his conditioning was too ingrained. Made them feel inferior. Made them feel like he was just fucking with them. By contrast he wanted to like them, wanted to fix the broken pieces of himself – but they never really seemed to know how to help.

Maybe he was beyond repair. At least – maybe now he was.

He still winced when he saw the building explode on the vidscreen, the way the glass shot and shattered out of the panes before the whole thing fell in on itself. If only Duo had been there. He would've known. He would've fucking known and he would've stopped it. And worse, Duo had to know that because he was fucking nowhere. Not at either funeral, not on any fucking comm channel, nowhere. And yeah, Heero could've dragged him out of whatever damn hole he'd sunk into but why? What was the point? It was over now.

It was over.

And he hurt too bad. Physically hurt. He felt constantly nauseous and his bones ached and though he managed to shower, brush his teeth, go through part of the routine every day it didn't matter because he wasn't there. Not really. He just didn't know where to go this time so he retreated inside of himself.

Heero thought about very little. Primarily just how it took them two days to retrieve her body from the rubble and how puppy fur felt in his hands. Why didn't he learn? History was doomed to repeat itself, promises made at fifteen now fulfilled. She was dead. He'd killed her.

He stifled a painful sob in his throat, chest heaving as he buried his face in the arm of the couch. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn't live with himself like this. Preventer was real sympathetic, said they still wanted him as a security agent and everything, but how could he ever trust himself again? He was worthless. He let her die.

Minutes faded into hours and he didn't know how long he lay on the couch, curled up like that. Days would pass and he would be oblivious. He hardly felt the functions of his body any more through the shroud of pain he buried himself in. There was no escaping it. Every time he thought for a moment that things would be okay all he had to do was walk back to that moment three weeks ago and remember...

There was a knock on his door. There was, sometimes, although it was rare. Sally had come by at one point, sat on his couch with him and she'd cried for an hour. Made him feel worse than ever and he didn't feel like dealing with it today. Besides, he knew what he looked like – no one ought to have to see him like this.

Heero waited. There was another knock, more insistent, and finally the knob turned and Heero could tell someone was trying to pick the lock. A rush of adrenaline and anger hit him so quickly that he almost threw up as he launched himself off the couch, crossed the room in an instant, and threw open the door so hard he was surprised the hinges didn't snap.

Duo.

He stood there looking chagrined with a pick in his hand and Heero was so mad – so fucking _mad_. The intensity of his feelings were more than he could physically contain and he reached out, quicker than Duo could ever hope to process, wrapping his hand around Duo's neck and dragging him into the apartment, slamming him up against the wall as he kicked the door shut with his foot.

The force was bruising and Heero knew it like it was a stat readout in a cockpit but he didn't care. In that moment all of his pain, all of his hurt was focused entirely on the one thing he felt could've prevented this disaster – and that was Duo.

For a long time he didn't say anything. Duo would open his mouth and try to speak but Heero would just squeeze tighter, cutting him off, forcing him to just try to breathe because he couldn't stand the thought of hearing him say anything at all. But although he wanted to scream, wanted to beat him senseless until he was broken and bruised and bleeding on the floor but –

What would it have solved?

And as he looked at him, sputtering and shocked, his anger started to flag, falling back into that depressive state he'd lived in for the past three weeks. Because Duo might have left him, but he still loved him.

Heero dropped him in the floor without much fanfare, turning his back on him and making his way to the couch once more, curling up on it and growling without even a glance.

"Get out."

He could hear Duo shuffle and cough as he picked himself up off the floor. Of course, Duo wasn't going to listen. He never listened. But still, Heero ignored him, didn't feel like dealing with him right now.

"Heero."

His name came out garbled from the stress on his throat but Heero didn't even turn and look. He didn't care. He didn't want to care.

"Leave."

But Duo didn't leave. He moved forward, moved towards the couch, and Heero's hackles raised, his muscles tensed, ready for a fight.

"Come on."

Thin, reedy, Duo spat, kicking at his coffee table, sending empty bottles crashing against one another, making Heero jump from nerves and he finally looked up, glaring.

"Leave!"

There was a threat there and a statement of fact and he could tell by the look on Duo's face, heated and angry, that he knew it. They both knew it. It was what Duo was best at, wasn't it? Ten years and he always left, always left when it got too close. And this time he fucked up, this time it wasn't just Heero he'd hurt, this time it was Wufei. This time it was Relena. He fucked up and he knew he fucked up and more than anything that's what Heero wanted. He wanted to know that Duo knew. He wanted Duo to blame himself at least half as much as Heero blamed him. At least half as much as Heero blamed himself.

"Fuck you," Duo spat out, rolling his eyes in this gratuitous way that made Heero see red. "You self-absorbed little prick."

That was it. Even after ten years Duo knew every button to press, every way to get under his skin and get a reaction. To be called self-absorbed was disgusting – beyond disgusting. Insulting in a way that rocked him to his core and in one fluid motion he stood, pushing Duo backwards so hard he hit the opposite wall.

Heero could tell he managed to knock the air out of him but he still managed to grin up at him through his bangs and even though in that moment when their eyes met he knew - he _knew_ Duo was doing this on purpose, was doing this to punish himself - but Heero couldn't stop.

And as he caught his breath Duo was laughing, these little wheezing laughs, and Heero hated them. How could he laugh? That fucking psychiatrist said it, she'd said it all. That he was narcissistic, he was pathological, he was maybe even schizophrenic, that he was depressed, that he was abusive. He was messed up, that it wasn't a normal relationship, people that loved you didn't treat you that way, didn't egg you on, didn't leave. Maybe he didn't cause Relena and Wufei's death, but it wasn't a healthy relationship. It wasn't good. He wasn't good.

But Heero wasn't good either. He wasn't good. Already Duo's throat was starting to bruise where Heero's fingers were and Duo groaned when he reapplied the pressure, Heero grabbing him by the throat and slamming him back into the wall.

"It's _your_ fault," he accused, voice low and dangerous, even and devoid of the anger raging inside of him. "They'd be alive if it wasn't for you – _Shinigami_."

He wielded the old nickname like a weapon and watched the way Duo's eyes flickered in pain. Heero knew Duo always believed that he held all the cards but no – he had a few of his own stashed away and he knew how to hit him where it hurt.

And Duo lashed out, clawing at his face, no longer cool and composed and full of snarky little smiles – but Heero hardly felt it. More than anything it was horrifying to watch the man he spent the better part of his free life loving admit, in his own way, that he was already placing all the blame on himself. Heero knew what that felt like. Duo didn't deserve that.

Once again Heero dropped his hand but Duo clung to him like he couldn't let go, fingers twisted in his shirt, shaking him, wanting some kind of response, wanting to be physically punished but Heero couldn't give it to him. He wouldn't give it to him. They would literally tear each other apart that way.

"Just go," he said instead, offering him the out Duo clearly needed. "Just go. Just go and don't come back."

Duo's weight sagged dramatically against him as he fell fully into his frame, all of the fight leaving him at once, and he buried his head in Heero's chest and he couldn't hear him crying but it suddenly felt wet and still his arms shook but he managed out a single word –

"Where?"

And Heero felt it. He felt a fucking lot these days – too damn much – but that one word he felt and he felt it so intimately it hurt because where were they supposed to go? Duo left, sure, but he always came back because Heero was all he had, Preventer was all they had, there was no place in the world for adults who had been trained to be soldiers as children, who were terrorists at fifteen, who saved the world and nearly destroyed it. Where was he supposed to go?

Heero twisted his fingers in the base of Duo's hair, shoulder length now but still tied up, and he pulled Duo's head back, kissing him hard on the lips. In an instant Duo's hands released his shirt, reaching for his neck, kissing him back fiercely, desperate to feel his acceptance and Heero knew it. Because there was nowhere else for him to go. If Heero turned his back on him now, then he had nowhere to go.

They struggled for a minute. Duo was trying to drag him down, his fingers on his neck, his nails in his skin, but Heero forced a step forward and Duo had to comply and move back lest he be dragged beneath Heero's feet.

His apartment was small and it was only a few painful, clinging steps to the bedroom before Duo was dropping to his knees, ripping down his pants, and impaling himself on Heero's cock. The urgency did nothing for Heero but he was frequently touch starved and desperate for affection and he groaned as he bent over Duo's head, his fingers cramping where they were still tangled in the back of his hair, and he couldn't let go.

Duo knew just how to touch him, just how to make him feel wanted, to feel needed – he always fucking did. Since they were fifteen and he still couldn't fight it. He needed that acceptance just as fucking bad as Duo did. There was no secret, no special understanding he had of Duo at this point – despite all their years together, most of the time Duo was still a fucking enigma to him.

No, Heero was still just as lousy at reading people's feelings as he'd always been – but he was better at reading his own. And he could feel it in the way Duo clung to him, pulling him deeper into his mouth even though it made him choke. Could feel it in the way his fingers dug into his skin. Could feel it in the desperate little way he moaned and fuck – Heero wanted him too.

Heero dragged him back by his hair and pushed him down on the bed. Duo was cursing but he was also shimmying up the bed, reaching under it for the little box of shit Heero kept there next to a plethora of weaponry and there were times Heero wasn't sure what Duo was reaching for really but this time he knew. Heero jerked down his pants as Duo handed him back lube and a condom, sending condoms and dildo sliding across the floor in his haste but it didn't matter.

He could tell Duo had been getting fucked elsewhere as soon as he slid his fingers inside. It was too easy and Duo yelped like it hurt and for a second he paused to make sure it was okay. Heero was rough but he gave a shit and he didn't want to hurt him. The problem was often that Duo didn't care.

"Do it," he growled through gritted teeth and Heero's own jaw clenched; he didn't like it like this, angry like this, like all Duo wanted was the pain.

But he relented – because what else could he do? He was still angry, yeah – hell, he would always be pissed about this. Relena. _Wufei_. Fuck. But he didn't want Duo to feel rejected. Not like he did. Not ever.

So he fucked him.

He fucked him and he pressed his palm down to the back of his throat, practically choking him as he cursed angry, raspy euphorias, his fingers twisting in the sheets. He set a rhythm that was quick but steady, so as not to tear him, not to hurt him any more than he hurt himself already. And it felt good, he'd admit it. It felt good to feel him writhing under him, feel his hips rocking into the sheets, feel his throat flexing beneath his fingers, feel his warmth engulfing him completely.

Sweat was dripping down his face as he felt Duo seize and he realized he was crying, really crying, and gasping for breath between sobs as he came against the bedsheets but it was too late to stop. Heero was already coming, the physical reaction more than he could stand, though he felt guilty and weird as he heaved breaths over Duo's body, removing his hand from his neck and dropping it next to his head, leaning heavily over him. Heero could tell now in the relative quiet, without the smack of skin, that he was rasping between sobs, "my fault, my fault" and the guilt was worse as he'd said it, he'd antagonized him.

Was it really Duo's fault? Could it be, when he couldn't do anything _but_ run when things got too close? Could anyone escape the nature of what they were?

Heero rolled off of him and onto the bed, back to him, unable to look at Duo as he slowly quieted down. There was nothing to say, nothing to fix the big, empty, brokenness between them. He remembered the last time he had seen him. It was here, in this apartment. He had smiled over coffee, assured Heero that he was going to be there for dinner after work. They'd fucked that morning. It was slow – Duo had woken up early, some kind of nightmare, and he kissed at Heero's neck until he was lucid enough to mount and Duo rode him for a long time until they were sweaty and spent and Heero could still see plainly the way his hair fell around his face, casting shadows from the streetlight across his eyes, nipples hard and dusky and pert against slowly constricting musculature under scarred skin.

And it wasn't as though Heero was naive enough to believe Duo wasn't going to leave – it was just that he had hoped this time it would be different. It had been weeks of an informal cohabitation. A week's worth of casual sex and shared meals and quiet evenings after work and fuck – Heero actually really liked it. A lot. And he knew it was going to end eventually but...

But he wasn't there for dinner. And Duo lied – he lied a lot – but fuck. That time? That time it really hurt.

Heero could feel Duo relaxing next to him but he couldn't turn around, couldn't look at him. He was still angry. But it was different, now. Or maybe it wasn't. But it wasn't as much about Relena and Wufei and the fact that he could've prevented their deaths as it was about why – why did Duo always run only to come crawling back and begging for forgiveness in one way or another? Heero couldn't give him that – he had nothing but an entire lifetime of atonement ahead of him.

Duo sighed heavily and Heero felt his forehead on his back as he leaned into him and it made his skin crawl and he wanted to move away but there was nowhere to go. He stared at the boring cement board floor in the apartment, the shiny foil wrappers strewn across it, the way the fading light glinted off of them. This was it? He was harvesting so many goddamn emotions he could hardly fucking stand it and he wanted to get up and he wanted to run and he wanted to pummel Duo and he wanted to kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and he wanted –

"Chinese takeout," Duo mumbled into a yawn. "The place Wu liked, by the office."

Heero's stomach turned and although he rarely threw up he found he couldn't even reply because of the taste of bile.

For a long time they lay there and Heero tried in vain to get his brain to shut the fuck up as Duo snored softly into his back, but it was impossible. He couldn't keep doing this. This was it. And he sat up and he studied the soft lines of Duo's face in the sunset. They were harder now but Heero always saw him like they were still kids. Chubby cheeks. Big eyes. Optimism and fear. He always would. No matter what time did to them, to Heero they would always be fifteen. Duo would always be his first friend. He could never deny him anything.

And for one bright and painful moment he thought he finally understood and he swallowed a cry, fingernails digging into his palms. Maybe Duo could never articulate it but he understood it better than Heero ever had except just then – just then he understood. They could never be together, not really, not forever, not the way he wanted in his naive heart – because sooner or later they would eventually tear each other apart.

They were stuck together, bound only by the hopeless realization that there was no one else and nowhere else for them to go. Duo must've hated him for it, must've felt the same sickening disgust Heero felt now. They had nothing in common but a shared past riddled with pain and it was inescapable. And maybe in some way Duo was just as naive and he wanted it to work – maybe he even loved Heero in the way that Heero loved him, crippled and limping – but he knew better. He knew better.

There was too much wrong, too much broken inside themselves and being together was as much a punishment as it was anything else and if Duo stayed, if Duo managed to fucking stay then what would Heero have to do to fulfill the angst inside of him? God – fuck. His mouth was trembling so hard he could hardly breathe but Duo knew, Duo knew better than anyone that he had to have something, some kind of mission and that he could never be happy here, not like this, not the way normal people could be, and even if Duo wanted it too he knew – he _knew_ they could never have that. The work, the mission, that was all he could have, all he would ever have.

Heero had nothing else.

But then... neither did Duo. And so he kept coming back.

He couldn't cry – he could never really cry, not since he was fifteen – but he lay back down next to Duo feeling utterly crushed and he stared at the sleeping boy across from him and he wanted to touch him but he knew he couldn't risk waking him up. Not this time.

Heero knew that he loved him. Unlike everything else in his life, Duo made him feel something that was honest and pure and simple and he didn't have to think about it – it just was. He never questioned it – he never had to. But now he was realizing – maybe he should've. Just because something was easy, didn't mean it was right. Duo knew that too, Heero figured. Duo knew a lot more than he did, it seemed. Not that he was greatly surprised.

But it made the obvious decision easier because now he couldn't go back. Preventer... It was impossible. He'd failed his mission, failed and Relena died, _and_ Wufei, and he couldn't be trusted with that kind of responsibility again. He'd failed. It was his fault.

It was his fault.

Fuck – Heero ached and he wanted to kiss him one last time. Not the searing, desperate kiss from earlier but soft, the soft kind of kiss they shared in the middle of the night, seeking and gentle. But it didn't matter how badly he wanted it – it wasn't worth the risk. And the longer he lay there the longer it would take to leave and it would be so easy for Duo to talk him out of it and he would, Heero knew it, he would try.

So he slid silently out of bed, packing a small bag with some clothes, a couple knives and his favorite gun. He glanced around the sparse room, knowing there was only one other thing he wished he could take but it was impossible and Heero stared down at him, biting his tongue, wondering if this was how Duo felt every time and wishing that their lives had been different, that they could have more than a hollow existence built on the back of bloodshed and war.

But there was no point in fantasy. Fantasy was for children and they had never been children. In reality – this reality, their reality, the only thing that mattered – Heero knew, this was for the best.

Duo shifted as Heero left the room and he paused, looked back over his shoulder.

"Food," he murmured, watching Duo's silhouette, waiting to see the rise and fall of his chest even out again.

Duo mumbled out a quiet "mmhmm" before settling down again, trusting Heero to return with take out in twenty minutes and wake up him.

But he wouldn't be coming back. Not this time.


End file.
